eighteen
“Henry?” Mrs. Kimball calls upstairs from the kitchen while Mr. Kimball passes through, bags in hand, on his way to load the car. “Evan is here.”
“Be down in a minute.”
Mrs. Kimball turns to me and my grocery bag. “What’s all that?”
“Dessert.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I have brownies,” Mrs. Kimball says, taking the bag from me.
“Dinner is more than enough. You shouldn’t . . .”
“She didn’t. I did,” Mr. Kimball yells from the garage. I can hear the trunk slam and him walking around. “It’s a mix, but it’s a good one.”
Henry comes rushing down just as Mr. Kimball walks back in. His dad says, “Evan brought groceries, apparently.”
“Cake and cheesecake.” Mrs. Kimball gives Henry a hug and then Mr. Kimball is hugging him, and there’s all this hugging going on. Mrs. Kimball comes over, and before I can step out of the way, her arms are around me. “Enjoy the meat loaf.”
“Thank you again. It’s my favorite.”
“I know. You guys didn’t really have summer this year. Together.” Mrs. Kimball is looking at me, really looking, and suddenly it feels like the bumps on my head are growing. Like maybe I’ve started bleeding again and she can see it, all of it.
“Let’s not make this the longest good-bye,” Henry says quietly.
The Kimballs are gone in a flurry of waving hands. Henry closes the door after them and starts up the stairs. Halfway up, he stops, comes back down again and straight into the kitchen. I’m leaning on the counter. Henry pauses at the far corner of the kitchen island and exhales. Silence.
I look at him. “What?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Me too.” As my phone starts buzzing. It’s on the counter. Before I can grab it, Henry beats me to it. He reads a text out loud:
Meant what I said earlier—I can pick u up!
Shit. “It’s just. It’s the thing tomorrow. You’re going too and . . .” I have no idea what to say.
“Is this Gaige?”
“I wanted to see if he was planning on going. For sure. See if he had the address.”
“It sounds like he’s coming. Is he picking you up?” Henry takes a seat on a stool at the kitchen island and leans in toward me. I’m still motionless at the kitchen counter. Near the sink.
“He offered. I told him I was just going to ride my bike.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Nothing, really. He’s from California.”
“Where in California?”
“I’m not completely sure, but I think up north.” It’s Sacramento. For some reason I don’t want him to know that I know.
“Why does he miss you? What’s the deal, Evan?”
“What? He didn’t text that. I don’t know. We just met at camp and now he’s here checking out a school. I told you all this already. That’s it.”
Is he jealous?
Do I like that he might be?
Henry looks down at the butcher-block top on the kitchen island and says, “I think my parents know.”
“Know what?”
He looks up at me.
“Henry, what are you talking about?”
“This summer was different. Right? Not hanging out made me think about things.” He laughs nervously and scratches the sides of his head. “I would go by your house almost every day.”
I work hard to make the words come out calmly. “What about your parents? I mean, what do they know?”
“That I’m gay.”
There it is. I’m afraid to say anything. So I don’t.
“I think they know I’m gay, and what sucks is that I think they’re more okay with that than maybe I am.” His eyes well up. The last time I saw Henry cry was when his dog died. He wipes his nose with his hand and says, “And at the monastery . . .” He stops himself and looks at me. Like he wants me to finish the sentence.
I must be in shock, because I feel almost frozen. All I can manage is “I’m sorry.” I want to go over and hug him, but I’m stuck.
He takes a breath and wipes his nose again, this time with his sleeve. “You seemed far away this year—I don’t know. Claire. She’s literally far away, at school. And now there’s this new guy, Gaige.” The tears come hard this time for a split second and then he pulls them back.
Now I can feel myself welling up and I try to move closer to him. “Hen—”
“No.” He puts his hand out and stops me. He has control over his emotions again. “I know it’s stupid, but Claire . . . I’m supposed to be glad she’s gone away to college and not here bugging me, but I don’t feel that way. She makes me feel—strong.”
I never see Henry as weak. He’s the one person, the one guy, who is so sure. So strong.
Henry looks right at me. “I miss you too. Gaige doesn’t have a monopoly on that.”
I don’t know what to say to that. To all of this, really. I’m so filled with emotion right now and I’m scared as shit to feel any of it.
“I guess I’m jealous. Fuck. There it is. That’s it.”
“Of Gaige?”
“I want you to be the guy who held me all night. In my room when I couldn’t stop crying. And at the monastery you pushed me away. That hurt.” He takes a breath. “I’m also scared that I want that.”
“Henry, it’s not simple.”
“Have you been avoiding me? Is that what camp was?”
“What about Amanda? And Ali, the girl you flirted with at Bugle’s?”
“Everything isn’t always clear.”
“Exactly.”
“Ev, you don’t share anything with me. I had to find out from Jeremy about no more Greek school and you possibly doing an internship in the city? In fucking Chicago. It’s like you have this whole other life. Lives! I don’t think you understand that this is, or should be, a two-way friendship. I don’t know how to be around you because you don’t give me anything. I keep trying.”
“What do you want me to give you?”
“You. I want you.”
I look at Henry and wonder how a boy so smart can be so clueless. “You want what almost happened at the monastery? That’s not the way the world works. The world works in black and white. Neat and tidy. I get that. This—this is too fucking messy.”
“Life’s fucking messy.” Henry’s eyes are clear and sharply focused on mine.
I look away. “That doesn’t work for me.”
“I’m gay and I want you to be more than my tennis buddy. Is that neat and tidy, black and white enough for you?”
I suddenly shut up.
My heart’s pounding so loud I feel it coming out of my ears.
Henry says, “When I kissed Amanda all those times—the times we had sex. It never felt like that one time you and I almost kissed. Fuck, you and I barely touched and I felt so—alive.”
I stand there silent and in awe of this boy in front of me who is so raw, trusting, and open. This one person who has never judged me.
“You have to say something. Don’t leave me out here alone and don’t you dare fucking leave.”
“What?”
“That’s what you do. You just leave. Don’t do this to me. Not now. I’m fucking putting out so much stuff and if you just pull your shit . . .”
I’m angry. Angry that he knows this about me. “Henry, maybe you don’t get to have what you want right now.”
“What do you want?”
I don’t know. I take him in and see these brilliant, sad, and beautiful eyes that are looking at me in a way I always thought I wanted. A way I never imagined was possible, and it scares the hell out of me. And fuck, he’s right. I want to leave.
Instead I say, “I’m scared.”
“Me too, but also not scared.”
He walks over to where I’m standing. He’s now right in front of me. My skin feels tingly. He grabs the bottom of my shirt with both hands and pulls me closer to him. I stop breathing. He shifts himsel
f even closer and starts slowly putting his hand under my shirt toward my back. I feel paralyzed, scared, thrilled. As if ice water is pumping inside my body. He leans in closer. I can feel his breath on my skin. He whispers, “Ev, I want to be the one you trust.” With that he removes one of his hands from my back and places it on the back of my head. Both my hands are locked around his waist. He leans in and kisses me full, soft, hard, and without any hesitation. I kiss back. Everything about this feels like that moment when you’ve finally reached the top of the highest peak on a roller coaster and you’ve just opened your eyes.
There’s always a major shift change in mood whenever I leave Henry’s house and come home. This time, I feel it even more—the sense of dread that finds its way under my skin when I quietly enter our house.
It’s early for both of them to be asleep. I walk quietly down the hall toward my room and pause outside my parents’ bedroom door. I hold my breath and listen. Snoring. Both of them. I’m safe.
My head is still living in that kiss. It’s good no one is here to see me grinning like an idiot.
I go into my room and turn on the light. I see my desk drawer open and my stomach drops. I dump my backpack and walk slowly over to my bed. On it is a neat and orderly pile of my drawings and artwork. All ripped and cut into small pieces. There’s a note at the top.
The face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. Psalm 34:16
nineteen
I’m pacing outside the monastery windows.
Anger is an emotion that I often feel but never want to acknowledge. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of what I’ll do. That I’ll be like her. That I am like her.
My pockets are filled with all the cut pieces of paper. The ones that used to be my drawings. The ones that I had wanted to give to Mr. Quinones.
There’s a warm light that shines on the monastery. It won’t be around much longer. Maybe a couple more weeks; then we’re into the gray season.
I pace.
And pace.
I’m stalling. I don’t have a plan.
What do I do about these torn drawings? About her? About Henry? Gaige?
I’ve worked so hard to keep everything down. To not feel pain. Not react. Blend in. But it’s not working anymore. I hurt. I feel it. My body aches. My head thumps. I start to cry, sit down, and look inside the tall windows. I can see all the usual suspects of the statue party. I swear someone is moving them. I look inside and scan the faces. I sit there for a while and then I get up from the little patio and head onto the lawn. I move directly to the nearest tree and start digging along the base of the trunk. The earth on top is soft, but it gets denser as I dig. I grab a thick branch from the ground nearby and use it to dig deeper. I dig until I hit something harder than soil.
I use the branch to cut around the dark-blue metal box. It’s even more rusted than the last time. I’m digging with my hands now until I can maneuver the box out and place it on my lap. It’s about the size of a small microwave. I open the latch.
Inside are five notebooks. Just like the one I carry with me. They’re really unremarkable, as far as journals go. Black-and-white composition notebooks with faded edges. Each one has a large, wide, blue rubber band wrapped around it vertically. On each cover, there’s a text box in the center. I’ve debated so many times as what to write there. Nothing has ever felt like the perfect thing.
The notebooks are filled with the opposite. I’ve documented all the ugly moments of abuse with such careful detail in the journal entries and drawings that at first glance through all the pages, all of it looks beautiful. The penmanship is neat and perfect. The sketches and colored pencil illustrations almost mythical in style.
I lift out all five notebooks, bury the box, and shove the notebooks into my backpack. I unload all my pockets of the torn drawing paper and put those in the backpack as well. I pull off my baggy white long-sleeved shirt and drop it on top of the box. My mother bought it at the Depot because it’s a shirt that won’t show off my body. It will keep me covered. It will keep me good and wholesome and pure. This is the kind of shirt you can’t seduce a boy in. I cover the shirt and the box with dirt, and then I pull out the black T-shirt I packed—the one that fits me—and change into it.
twenty
Ali’s house is one of those typical ranch homes built in the eighties. Nothing about it stands out except her mom is a landscape architect and she’s created front and back yards that are ridiculously awesome. They look like something out of Alice in Wonderland meets the Chicago Botanical Gardens. I’ve been here before and I walked around like a zombie. I must have asked Ali’s mom a million questions about how she planned this. What was her inspiration. How long it took. The names of the plants. I was in geek overdrive.
“P-P-P-P-aaaaaaaanos!” Jeremy rushes out of the house to greet me. He’s wearing bright-yellow board shorts and no shirt, and his hair is slicked back. “I’ve been in that pool for the last hour. Here, let me show you where you can put your bike.”
“You running the show here?”
“You know me. I command a room.”
“Do you?”
“You’re the most requested man. Gaige. Kimball. I wish the other Kimball was here. Claire.”
“She’d crush you. So, everyone’s here?”
“Almost everyone.”
I lean my bike in the garage and follow Jeremy into the house. The house where I’ll see Henry for the first time after our kiss. I’m so nervous and excited that every step, every breath, feels cautious and deliberate.
Then the question inside the house becomes Where do I store this backpack?
Jeremy is asking me where my suit is or if I plan to swim in all my clothes like the good Greek boy that I am. Sometimes I very much feel like a stranger in my own town. Not that being Greek feels comfortable either.
“You know, I’m probably going to just lay low with the swimming. I may be getting a cold.”
“What? No. Give me the backpack and get in the pool. You’re going in one way or another, Panos.”
He pulls open the door to the hall closet, grabs my backpack, throws it in. I’m watching it leave my side in slow motion. I’m reaching for it when this voice behind me says, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Gaige.
It’s either a really good thing or a really bad one that Jeremy’s here right now. But then, like that, he’s heading toward the French doors and back outside. “Come out here, losers! I’ll be over heeeeeere!” And with that he jumps right into the pool.
Gaige has on a pair of blue-and-orange-striped loose board shorts and a white T-shirt. The look on his face makes me think either he’s high or this is his “sexy” face.
I look outside. I see Henry. I wave as Gaige watches. All my senses are in overdrive. It’s as if every single object and person is waving at me, demanding my attention.
“I don’t think they can see us from outside. The glare. They’ve been asking about you. They thought I’d know where you were.”
“Oh.”
“Are you going to go in?”
“The pool?”
Clearly he’s been in. His swim trunks are soaked and so is his hair. He’s normal without trying to be. I doubt he practices in the mirror like I do.
He says, “You know, at the risk of sounding like a cliché, we should probably talk.” And he smiles. It’s the smile that got me at camp. The one that made me want to kiss him.
“Yep. I got that sense from your texts. The ones that said let’s talk.”
“I’m not subtle.”
“Not sure that here is the right place.”
“I go back tomorrow. It’s going to have to be.”
I can see Henry outside. He’s standing with a drink in one hand and a hot dog in the other. Talking to Ali. They look good. They look like they belong together. Both tall. Blondish. She’s in a teal bikini. He’s in dark-emerald swim trunks with a wide, white stripe down one side, and . .
. fuck! He’s looking good. This is a good picture. Why would I want to interrupt this picture?
“Evan?”
“Mmmm.”
“You want to keep staring at those two or can we talk?”
“Evan!” Tommy Goliski swings into our orbit.
Oh, no. “Tommy. This is—”
“We’ve already met. Gaige is a cool guy. It’s like you’re morphing in front of my very eyes, Evan.”
“What?”
“There’s someone in there.” He pokes me in the chest. Hard. “If you can keep the queer at bay.” He pokes me again. “Don’t be this guy. Be . . .” He points to Gaige. “Be that guy.” And with that he walks away as quickly as he circled in. If he only knew.
Gaige rolls his eyes. “What a dick.”
“Sorry, Tommy thinks he—”
“Henry? Is there something?” Gaige doesn’t skip a beat.
“He’s my best friend and I should go say hello.”
Gaige shakes his head. “Evan, this isn’t hard. I’m cool with you and Henry, if that’s a thing. It was fun at camp. I just thought we could have more fun. No strings attached. I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I have school to think about.”
“Gaige, I’m sorry. We can’t talk here. How about if after the—”
He leans in a bit and whispers, “No. I just want to get laid. How can you not get that? Damn. Just text me later. Don’t make this into something else.” He moves back and then walks out toward the pool area. What the fuck just happened?
Idiot. I’m a fucking idiot. I’ve been worried that I have to figure something out and what the kiss with Gaige meant, and to him it was nothing. My mind is spinning. That’s what it must be like to know. To know exactly who you are. To be so sure, without angst. I feel somehow deflated, stupid, disappointed, and relieved all at the same time.
I go outside and move closer to where Henry and Ali are standing. Henry sees me. I wave. He waves and goes back to talking to Ali.
“I didn’t think you’d show.” This is from Tess, who’s just walked up. “You want something to eat? The burgers are really good, I hear. I don’t eat meat now, but—”
The Dangerous Art of Blending In Page 10
